Author: Lilith
Title: Reinventing the Future
Spoilers: Good question. Relies on the mytharc
Rating: R
Classification: S, A, M/S Romance
Keywords: MSR
Notes and Disclaimer: See bottom of story
Summary: A future....
"The best way to predict the future is to invent it...."
The dawning sun blinds me with its brightness and I flail for
a moment in my attempt to reorient myself on the bed. Deep, slow
breaths carry me from my much more pleasant dream world to the
more surreal life that occupies my days. Reluctantly throwing my
legs over the side of the bed, I force myself to wake. I pull the
drapes closed violently and shake back my hair.
"Good morning, Mother," says DKS-74, trying, as she does
everyday, to help me undress. I may be 217 years old, but in every
physical aspect of my being, I'm the person I was at thirty-five.
I do not require the assistance of DKS-74 or any of the five
Offspring that populate my house.
I wave her away. I comb my hair and regard myself in the
mirror. They wanted to make me look twenty-five, but at twenty-five...
that was before. Before him, before my life began.
On mornings like these, I wish Clyde Bruckman had been a
fraud.
DSK-233 has my breakfast ready. "Is he here?" I ask.
She sighs. "No mother. He will not be here."
"Yes, he will."
I know. They owe me. They owe all the mothers and fathers,
but mostly me. As I walk to the door, on my way to deliver my daily
lectures on human ailments that can also effect the 200s, the
proximity detectors around the house ping softly. I ignore the
greetings of the other Offspring and slam the doors together behind
me.
I walk into a cloud of smoke. 233 lied after all.
"Oh, it's you," I say. I speak as though we see each other
every day, as though this is a non-event, as though his visit is not
the most significant event in the past twenty years of my new life.
"You seem so pleased to see me, Agent Scully."
I laugh. I haven't been Agent Scully for nearly two centuries.
But it is only fitting for us.
"Do you have anything for me?" I have been waiting. They
promised me this, but these men are not known for keeping their
promises.
"Perhaps."
"No, I will not sit on the Committee of Mothers," I sigh.
"You are much respected by the Offspring, despite your
attempts to prevent," he swept out his arm, "all this."
"I don't see why I am so important to them." I will teach the
classes, but I will do them no more favors. After everything that
has happened, I cannot watch them die.
"You represent what they respect most about the human side of
their heritage."
I cross my arms over my chest. "Where is he?"
"Are you sure he still wants to see you? It has been an
awfully long time."
I nearly roll my eyes. "Just tell me. If they have so
much respect for me, why can they not grant me just this?"
The house, the helpers, even that absurd statue they insisted
upon, I wanted none of that. Just this.
"I may be able to arrange it," he says, taking a deep drag
from his cigarette.
"Do so," I instruct him. "Soon. I am tired."
He nods. He knows what I mean. There was some scandal years ago
when three of the mothers threw themselves from the tower. Many of
the Parents have simply allowed themselves to wither away in their
beds, but the overt suicides shocked the Offspring. They had not
seen such a thing since the Change. I have issued a threat in these
words. He understands.
I nod to the Mothers and Fathers I recognize as we all trudge
toward our respective tasks-- teaching, physical labor, medicine,
bureaucracy. Those of us who are left, a small handful compared to
the six billion that once roamed the earth, are allowed to live almost
as we did before-- working, playing, communicating via an Internet
system that causes a pang in my stomach for the three wonderful
paranoid men, long since gone. We are respected and cared for, we
are sheltered and treasured as sources of wisdom. We are slowly
dying off, though, and breeding is forbidden-- not to mention
impossible through natural means, since the youngest of us is nearly
150 years old.
My students rise as I enter the room. Few doctors are left,
we are in demand. Teaching this class is my payment, their price.
There are thirty-odd DKS models, a few of Cassandra Spender, a cluster
of Samantha clones, a Betsy, a Penny, a few Kurts, a Scanlon or two,
and many that I don't recognize. I arrange my notes before me and
open my mouth just as the door opens and a latecomer, a new student,
slinks in. He's young, but he's unmistakable. Damn them, the
fuckers. I was holding his hand when he died.
"Registry?"
"JFByers 200."
I'm so tired.
*****************
Six puts her hand on my cheek. I take a deep breath and
peer into the mirror. It still takes my breath away to watch the fine
lines around my eyes drain from my face. Age simply fades from me
during these sessions. I nod at her and she nods back, taking her hand
from my face. Six is the only one of my daughters that I can stand,
of the 235 that I have met. Six is special, for more reasons than I
can list. She has the silent mark and she killed three of her less
enlightened sisters to save me.
"It is being said that you will join the Committee," she
comments.
"Who says so?" I ask, my voice squeaking slightly as my body
readjusts to the de-aging.
"Obviously, no one who knows you well," she replies.
I smile. She places her hand on my womb. "I wish I could heal
this, Mother," she says.
I put my hand over hers. "It doesn't hurt anymore, Lydia.
It hasn't for a long time."
She smiles. "You are the only one who still calls me Lydia,"
she says. "You should rest now. The pain should not be bad this time.
Would you like to take something?" I shake my head though I am already
woozy from the aching in my limbs.
Six props me up with her shoulder and helps me from the dresser
to the bed. "Sleep, mother. I will tell DKS-74 to leave the curtains."
*******************
I sit up, my head swimming. Someone is yelling. There is
never fighting in this house. I look up and see Six and DKS-23 in
my doorway, arguing loudly with DKS-233. Six frowns and gestures to
DKS-23. DKS-233 is now a heap on the floor of the hall.
"Mother, are you at all rested?" asks Six.
I nod and try to stretch. DKS-23 hands me some clothing as
Six throws a large bag into my chair.
"Get dressed and fill this," instructs DKS-23.
"What is happening?" I ask, as I allow Six to help me off
with my nightgown. She folds it and tucks it into the bag.
Standing naked by the bed, I watch as DKS-23 systematically
packs the few garments I keep in my closet into the bag. Then with an
assurance that bothers me, she reaches into the drawers and pulls out
my family album. Shaking myself mentally, I manage to slip on the
faded suit my daughters have thrown me. They even found an old pair
of my shoes. It feels like Halloween.
Six shoulders the bag and reaches for my hand. It takes me a
moment to realize that everything I have left fits into one bag.
"Wash your face quickly," she tells me, "before DKS-233 wakes
up."
We step over the fallen body, throw my hairbrush and toothbrush
into the bag, and move quietly to the door. DKS-23 hands Six a lantern
and clamps the magnetic locks behind us.
"Move quietly," she says as we move onto the sidewalk.
"Where are we going?" I ask in a whisper.
"To the Fifth Quadrant," she replies.
"I can't go that far. The alarms will go off if I try to
pass the third," I remind her.
She nods and stoops down. She slips her fingers into the thin
filament about my ankle and dissolves the band. "That is better."
In silence, we are carried through the city, passing only a
handful of other Offspring. Through the polymer sheeting, I see the sun
begin its ascent. As the sky becomes tented with pink, we enter the aptly
named Fifth Quadrant, the space set aside for `unreformed dissidents'
who are still useful for something. I am not surprised that this is
where he ended up. In fact, as he's not a Father, there was no
logical reason to keep him at all.
But I know the reasons.
There are many kinds of fathers.
Six drags me from the sidewalk and pulls me up against the walls
of a small green structure. She raps twice on the door. It slides open
to reveal the face of a Kurt Crawford. He waves us in.
"He is sleeping," says Kurt, gesturing to the room at my left.
I take a deep breath and slowly turn the doorknob. Nearly 200
years. One look and I find myself fighting the urge to vomit.
He's ancient, his skin like leather, little whips of a beard
clinging to his face. He is strapped to the bed by a stasis field,
dressed in what I can only describe as a diaper. He shifts slightly in
his sleep. Light catches something on his chest and my stomach lurches
in another direction. He held onto it somehow, after all these years.
"What happened to him?" I demand.
"He won't let us touch him for long enough to de-age him,"
says the Kurt, his tone apologetic. "He almost let DKS-6 heal him once,
then he realized that she wasn't...that she wasn't who he thought she
was."
"You knew?" I ask Six, trying not to make it an accusation.
"Two years ago, when they realized how much I looked like
you...I was told not to speak of it."
I nod and approach his bed. "Turn off the field," I whisper.
"Come here, Six."
Despite his fidgeting, Six places her hand delicately on his
cheek. After an hour, he blinks his eyes open and glares at her. His
unchecked hand stretches out to strike her, but I capture it in
time. His eyes widen in recognition, but only for an instant as he
falls into the lethargic sleep of the regenerated. I think I just heard
my heart crack open in that instant. After all these years, his eyes
still know mine.
Six falls back exhausted, her arms shaking from her efforts.
"He looks better now, doesn't he?"
I hadn't allowed myself to really look before, but I do now.
Yes. He looks incredible. I tell her so.
"Thank you, Mother," she sighs, falling to the Kurt's arms.
"Dress him," I instruct the Kurt as we help Six to the other
bedroom. There are, I realize, no other Offspring in this cabin of
a house. Just one, one to force feed him, strap him down, keep him
alive. I tuck Six into the cot. His Kurt can sleep on the ground
for all I care.
I hobble back to the bedroom, my legs very tired now. I slip
into a nightdress. It's too much action for my tired self in these
last two days. Kurt has put a pair of pajama pants on Mulder and
turned down the blankets, waiting for me. I sigh and settle next to
the heat of his body. He makes a tired groaning noise and his hand
grips at the air. I take his hand and clasp it in mine, one tear
falling as a slight smile lights his face. I open the palm to my lips,
shivering in bliss, before placing it back on his chest. I won't wake
him, I can't. After touching my cross briefly, I turn onto my side
and let myself fall asleep, near to him, but not touching.
******************
Damn everything.
The panic of having to face another day sweeps over me and ebbs
away like a morning tide. I stretch and suddenly realize that I can.
They are no longer restraining me with those invisible ropes. I look
at my hands and realize they have managed to heal me again. Recently,
I've been making it damn hard for them to keep me one step from death.
I want so much to die, to leave this behind. She told me once that we
had nothing to fear when this life is over. I want it to be over.
Sighing? Someone else is sighing in the bed. First, I think
They have brought another mate, another copper-coifed clone for me to
kick out of my bed despite the pleading of my body. Something is
different though because this one hasn't jumped me yet. Usually, I
have to literally throw them off. Offspring are quite insistent about
carrying out their orders. This one is merely lying there, at a
distance even; she sounds almost asleep.
I roll closer to her and rub my eyes. The resemblance is
remarkable. Closer even then the most recent one they sent in an
attempt to heal me. She is sleeping, her forehead furrowed, her hands
clenched tightly in the blanket. I lean closer and take a deep breath.
That smell, that's the smell of human, not of Them. This is, this
is....this....
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.
My hand buries itself in her hair and her eyelids flutter open.
She smiles slowly at me.
"Mul-der."
Oh my god.
"Mulder."
Her hands are in my hair too now, and on my shoulders and
over my chest.
"Mulder."
177 years.
"Mulder."
Oh, her voice. It sounds like God talking. I can't get words
past my lips. I can only fondle her hair and stare at her.
"Please say something," she begs.
"Scly."
Wow. I really can't talk. That's no surprise, I haven't done
much besides scream or grunt in a long time.
She nods her head in understanding. "Mulder," she repeats.
She is shaking now. So am I. I feel drugged. My fingers
unclench from her hair and run over her face instead. Her mouth opens
and she rubs herself against my hand. Her lips press against my
fingertips and I shudder, a small cry breaking forth from my mouth.
"Scu-lee."
A tear rolls down her cheek and I crush her body to mine,
seeking out her warmth. Her hand travels down her body, separating
the layers of cloth, and tearing down my pants. We are skin on skin
now. She buries her mouth in my neck, sobbing against me. I pull
her closer and she slings a leg over my hips.
"I never told you," I manage. I'm quivering now, like an
ecstatic puppy. She seems as emotional as I feel. After all, she
may have been awake all these years. "I never told you that I
love you."
My lips drag over her cheeks, her eyes, her mouth. "I knew,
Mulder. I knew. Always."
I drag my mouth further down, over her jaw and her neck,
her body stroking against mine. I am surprised I haven't lost it
already. I haven't touched another human being in 177 years, and
this, this is Scully. My Scully.
"Scully, Scully, my Scully."
"I love you."
God, I must be grinning like an idiot now. I am, I can
see it reflected in her smile. My lips close over one nipple and she
moans, her fingers clenching around my shoulders. I look and see that
she is watching me touch her. She is shaking harder now and I feel her
legs spread beneath me.
"Mulder," she orders. I manage a smile at the tone of her
voice. She accepts the touch of my mouth on hers gleefully, her
fingers guiding me.
Oh my god.
Inside Scully. This is what I have dreamed of for 177 years,
and for years before that. She arches against me and repeats my name
over and over. She comes quickly, gracelessly, and so do I.
Later, when we can believe this, I will make love to her
slowly and gently, and wildly, and passionately, but this wasn't even
about making love. This was about possession and declaration, and
knowing for the first time in 177 years that we are still alive.
"Mulder."
"Scully. I love you."
She sighs, kissing away the tears on my cheeks. "Then, just
lay here with me until I know this is real."
"Scully, I'm never letting go of you."
She smiles and tucks the blankets around us. I'm still
inside her; she tucks a leg around me, holding me there. Our bodies
are exhausted, unaccustomed to such violent action. Her aroma wafts
around me and I can feel her breath on my cheek. For the first
moment in 177 years, I don't fear living.
****************
"Mother, father."
For one bizarre moment, I can see a child at the foot of the
bed, calling to her parents. My eyes open and I see the one that
looks like her mother, only with hazel eyes. I have never heard that
tone in addressing me as father . It has become a formal term, like
`sir.'
"Oh, Lydia, good morning," says Scully, seemingly unconcerned
by our nakedness.
Lydia?
"Six, where are Mulder's clothes?"
"I'll bring you both some clothes, Mother," she says with
a smile.
Six? I've never heard such a low number. This one is
different. She has a name, someone named her. She had parents, she
was loved, someone played with her and read her stories.
Scully smiles back at her daughter, who graciously takes
her leave.
"Hey there," she whispers silkily in my ear.
I shiver and pull her closer. "Hey yourself."
"You want to get a shower? I'm sure Six has cleaned this
place up."
"That sounds good," I answer.
Scully turns on the water and I warp my arms around her
under the spray. "Kiss me, Mulder," she says with a laugh.
I can't believe how wonderful it feel to hear her laugh
against my lips. We clean each other and help each other dress.
Six is waiting with something in two tiny cups that smells
amazingly like coffee.
"Mother, your class has been canceled for the day."
"Oh?" Scully seems surprised.
Six carefully hands me my coffee cup , so that I see her
intention. She draws an invisible circle with her index finger and
deliberately sweeps a line through it. The daughter is more
remarkable than I had thought. I haven't seen that sign in 177
years. I catch her eye and she merely nods at me before returning
her focus to Scully.
"He assumed you and Father Mulder would have some catching
up to do."
I almost laugh. Even they don't know his real name.
"Yes," she replies wistfully, "a lot of catching up to do."
Only there is nothing to say. Over a century of nothing,
of endless days, of sleepless nights. I reach for her hand and
rub my thumb over her knuckles.
That's all right.
It's all right that there is no catching up to do after two
centuries.
We have a future to plan and one to destroy. We're together
again, and it's never too late to fight the future.
THE END
Disclaimer: I don't own them, Chris Carter, 1013, Fox, etc. own
them. No infringements are intended.
Notes: First, I have to give credit to Alloway whose 'All the
Mulders' started me on the track to the 'scary surreal future'
storyline. Also, credit to Amy (of the Haven) whose movie spoilers
gave me the idea for the future I wanted to play with. Thanks to
all the ladies at the Haven for their encouragement. Last, but
definitely not least, big thanks to Hannah, my editor, advisor,
and general enthusiast : )
Feedback: yes please. Contact 'Lilith' at
cphilli@mailhost.tcs.tulane.edu
"Please explain to me the scientific nature of the 'whammy'" --Dana
Scully
"If you don't see the fnord, it can't eat you."
"Your theory is crazy, but it's not crazy enough to be true." --Neils
Bohr